


The Wreck in Resurrection

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Being Murdered Multiple Times, Bleeding Eyes, Bleeding ears, Brain Damage, Broken Neck, Deathfic, Drowning, Force Bond Horror, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Lightsaber Wound, Resurrection as Torture, Sad Ending, Science Horror, cliffhanger ending, much angst, teen death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:39:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Plagueis has been experimenting with bringing back the dead, then killing them, then bringing them back again. Now he's caught Jedi for his purposes.





	The Wreck in Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't write Qui-Gon as a villain this time.

 

His Padawan was dead.

So why was he lying inside a clear tank? Eyes half-open, a saber burn through his abdomen, he was  _dead._

And on display. A light focused in on the tank, leaving the rest of the room— including Qui-Gon, in dim shadow.

Qui-Gon pressed against the bars of his cage, only to be hit with an electric jolt from the metal that launched him backwards and left him gasping as his heart struggled to recover.

A tall Muun stepped into vague view, behind the tank containing what used to be a sixteen-year-old padawan.

“Hego Damask,” Qui-Gon growled, glaring at him.

Investigating banking corruption had led the Jedi team to  _him._

_A Sith._

After a thousand years of silence, the Order had risen again.

And slaughtered Qui-Gon's padawan.

While Qui-Gon wanted to be able to blame himself for not seeing  _something_ sooner... what he knew made it near impossible.

There  _hadn't_ been anything to suggest even a hint of this. Investigating from another direction, maybe, but certainly not from the banking angle.

“You seem bereaved, Master Jinn. Would you like to see your precious child breathe again?”

_Why hasn't he killed me yet?_

He certainly couldn't let Qui-Gon  _go._ And as far as the trapped Jedi was aware, he possessed no knowledge that the Sith Lord could want.

The Force twisted in an odd, cloying way. Qui-Gon tasted copper on his tongue, felt his eyes water.

Something was  _wrong._ Wrong, wrong, wrong, he could almost hear the symbionts in his blood shrieking with outrage.

A gasp of air choked into Obi-Wan's lungs, and he twitched, the movement violent and ungoverned.

Qui-Gon recoiled, horrified that the Sith would manipulate a corpse like a puppet just to get to his soon-to-die prisoner. It was beyond cruel. It was extravagantly needless.

Obi-Wan coughed, blood spattering the tank's inner wall, obscuring his face.

“Oh. Well, that's a shame,” the Muun murmured. “You can't see him now, my beautiful creation. Ah well.” He raised his voice as he called, “Clean the tank!” to an unseen control.

Water gushed in from a pipe near the top, and at the touch of it Obi-Wan writhed away, his back slamming against the wall closest Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon couldn't seem to move. He wanted to ask the Sith what he was doing, needed to, but with his padawan dead, the Sith only wanted more interaction.

In Qui-Gon's mind, the gap where  _Obi-Wan_ had been for five years was raw and painful, and when something tried to shove into it, Qui-Gon couldn't help utter  _revulsion_ and nearly choking on bile.

The water level rose quickly, and Obi-Wan flipped over again to try to sit up and claim the air still present. He clawed at the tank wall, trying to stay above, the wound in his gut leaking red into the churning water.

The Force shrieked again, not with a being's pain, but with its  _own._

Obi-Wan's gaze met Qui-Gon's, and he pounded at the wall. “ _Master—_ Master, what's happening?”

His voice  _too_ ? Qui-Gon's eyes burned with tears and he dragged himself closer to the bars, having to put effort into  _not_ reaching out to touch the metal again.

“Master!” There was barely room for him to breathe, his head tipped back, lips as close to the lid of the tank as possible. “ _Please,_ help me—”

Qui-Gon couldn't help it. He lunged against the bars again and was thrown back, sparks flaring in his eyes, breath torn from him and heart staggering under the electrical load.

Before his vision returned, the Force shuddered with the knowledge of  _death._ The thing trying to shove a square peg into the round emptiness of the ripped-out bond vanished.

Qui-Gon, trembling, managed to pull himself to his knees and lifted his gaze.

Obi-Wan hung face-down in the water, braid drifting beside him.

“What are you?” Qui-Gon asked, unable to tear eyes away to visually find the man he spoke to.

A chuckle oozed through the room, making Qui-Gon feel filthy. “I have mastered the Force itself. I can  _command_ it. Compel it to my bidding.”

The claim snapped Qui-Gon out of staring at the floating corpse to find Damask again. Qui-Gon would have scoffed at such a claim from  _anyone._ Nature's laws, physics and chemistry and mathematics, it  _all_ was part of the Force, and the Force upheld its own laws.

To claim the Force could be compelled to  _break_ its own laws of reality? Not something it chose to do, but  _driven_ by a mortal to a thing fundamentally against its nature?

To a man who revered life and natural death, the ebb and flow of living things such as Qui-Gon, the thought of a man who would enchain the Force and drive it back upon itself was downright  _vile._

And impossible. Utterly, completely impossible.

The Force could not be  _driven._ It was not tame.

A gurgle preceded the water draining out of the bottom of the tank, flowing into some system designed to carry it away.

Obi-Wan's body came to rest crumpled on its floor, his skin looking almost waxy in the intense spotlight.

“I suppose, of course, you would like to be able to  _communicate_ . Say your goodbyes, since you were deprived of them before. Of course, were I so inclined, I might be able to return him to you forever.”

Again that terrible rending in the Force, as if a starship hull were ripping apart. Claws dragged across Qui-Gon's mind and he cried out in sympathy even as he heard Damask's footsteps echo out of the room.

_Again_ something pushed at Qui-Gon's mind, demanding entrance, as if expecting it should be welcome in the wound sacred to Obi-Wan's memory.

Again movement in the tank.

Choking and gagging, spilling water up out of lungs, lips blue and eyes glassy, Obi-Wan didn't even look over at Qui-Gon this time. He braced on his hands and knees, head hanging, chest heaving as he dragged in air, the coughing stilling at last.

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon whispered, trembling, dreading.

It took a long time for Obi-Wan's head to turn, for those subtly  _off_ eyes to meet Qui-Gon's.

The older Jedi braced himself against the awful screeching of the Force— it sounded like claws against durasteel— and tried to ascertain if a living thing inhabited the tank...

Or if it was some terribly accurate physical matter manipulation. Or perhaps a vision, an ancient Sith torture method...

Qui-Gon's stomach clenched convulsively, trying desperately to make him spew its contents out his mouth. He held it back from the sheer need to not take his gaze away from the  _living_ creature before him.

Obi-Wan shifted to sit, the movement slow and pained as he leaned against the wall. “Master... where are we?”

A pulse came through the  _thing_ in the wound in Qui-Gon's mind, like a parody of a questioning touch.

The world seemed to twist around Qui-Gon, leaving him with tears on his cheeks and not a sound in his throat.

“I... remember...” Obi-Wan blinked, trying to focus his glazed eyes, frowned a bit. “The archaeological dig on Dantooine. Are we on a mission? Does that mean my leg is healed?”

He was only off by about six months.

“Take it easy,” Qui-Gon whispered, trying to send comfort and reassurance through the... thing that had once been a bond... oh,  _Force_ ....

He had no way of knowing of Obi-Wan felt it or not.

“There's something wrong,” Obi-Wan mumbled, lifting his hands to stare down at them.

Blue, like his lips.

“The Force is...” Obi-Wan's gaze didn't budge from his hands. “Something terrible has happened. Something...”

Those hands began to shake.

“ _I_ was—”

“It's alright, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon soothed, voice choked. “Just rest now, please. For me. We're not safe here. Not yet.”

“I was... it dragged me out. It reached in and tore me back.” Obi-Wan's entire body trembled, his breathing shifting from labored to alarmed. “I was safe, warm—  _Master._ ”

Qui-Gon tried to swallow, but it hurt like hell. “I know, Obi-Wan. The Force took you.”

And Damask had wrenched back what the Force had claimed for its own.

“It's wrong,” Obi-Wan mumbled, “not right. Not—”

“It's backwards, I know, Padawan,” Qui-Gon murmured. “It's only supposed to go one way.”

Again, that attempt to find Qui-Gon through what had once been a bond, and now was something necrotic and  _other._

Qui-Gon felt the danger just as Obi-Wan's head snapped to the side with an audible crunch of his spine, his body crashing boneless to lie flat again, eyes open and empty.

The originator of all of Obi-Wan's deaths stepped into the light once more, his hum making Qui-Gon shiver, hand still extended from breaking Obi-Wan's neck.

_Please,_ Qui-Gon begged the Force,  _keep him safe now. Keep him out of this monster's reach. Hide him._

“This is so very lovely. I've been experimenting on lower sentient life, with no Force sensitivity. I had a spare apprentice, and played with him, but he broke too fast. He was unhinged to begin with and just too damaged to continue. I didn't dare kidnap anyone, for fear of drawing down attention, so  _ t _ _hank you,_ Master Jinn, for forcing me into action, and for bringing such a perfect specimen to my little experiment.”

“If what you claim is true, the Force will not submit to you long,” Qui-Gon said, feeling again the emptiness of the uprooted bond. “You cannot think it would allow you to tame it.”

The Muun scoffed, sliding back the lid of the tank just a bit to reach in and brush long fingers over Obi-Wan's soaked hair. “I have no interest in  _house training_ it, Jinn. And it may do as it pleases with time and space. But  _I_ will live forever, in the body  _I_ choose. Essence transfer is not only a forgotten practice, but unnecessarily inconvenient. If the only body present at time of death is not Force sensitive, you're in a world of trouble. I want to keep this one, thank you. Until  _I_ choose to vacate it for another.”

“You will not proceed unchallenged for long.” That, Qui-Gon  _knew_ .

“There is no one powerful enough to challenge me. Trust me, Master Jedi, I have searched long and wide.”

_Then the Force will_ make  _one who can challenge you._   
The Force would not be enslaved. By anyone. Ever.

But even if a child were conceived  _today_ with such power, it would be years before they could face Damask.

_Certainly not in time to save my padawan._

He watched, helpless, as the Muun forced life back into the boy once more, gathering together his scattered personhood from the Cosmic Force, dragging the Living Force back to heel.

Qui-Gon watched, recognizing that pieces were still scattered through the Cosmic.

Not all of it had come back.

“Tell me, young Jedi,” the Muun purred, “What is five times four?”  
Obi-Wan's forehead furrowed. “I... don't...”

“What is your name?”  
He thought about it, crouched in a tiny ball now, shaking, shivering in the damp clothes still stuck to him. “P-padawan?”

“Ugh,” Damask groaned. “You're falling apart, just like the other one.  _Why._ Why can't you just  _work_ for me? Is it too much to  _ask?_ ” With the shriek of frustration from the Sith, blood began to seep from Obi-Wan's eyes and nose.

He whimpered, and his gaze dropped to his stomach. His eyes widened as he saw the hole punched through it, and his fingers entered the wound just a little, bewilderment filling his countenance before he looked up to Qui-Gon.

Something again tried to shove its way into Qui-Gon's soul, this time even less shaped like Obi-Wan than the prior attempts.

“ _Stupid,_ you're  _stupid_ !” growled the Muun.

A cry escaped Obi-Wan's throat as the blood ran thicker, slipped from his ears and gurgled up his throat. His foot kicked out against the slick floor, almost spastic in its desperation.

His head thunked against the glass, he tried to reach for Qui-Gon, but his hand crashed into the clear barrier, preventing the gesture.

That confused look again, this time mingling with acute  _pain—_

Qui-Gon tried to reach for him with the Force, but Obi-Wan couldn't seem to understand it, to make sense of it, the receiving end just as damaged as his attempts to reach out.

_Oh, my child._

He died almost quietly this time, sagged against the clear wall, knuckles bloody and the whites of his eyes crimson.

When the Muun stormed out, Qui-Gon had a brief hope that might be the end of it— at least for Obi-Wan.

Maybe Damask would start in on Qui-Gon, but... surely, since the experiment had failed, Damask would just let it be over for Obi-Wan.

And then his padawan stirred just a little, where he sat crumpled against the wall.

Exhaustion was what Qui-Gon noticed first, as Obi-Wan's eyes turned in his direction.

Nothing tried to connect with Qui-Gon.

The Force seemed hushed.

“Do you know who I am?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan looked at him a long moment, then shook his head.

The master's throat closed, heart throbbing in anguish. “Do you know who you are?” he choked out.

A pause.

Another head shake.

“It's alright,” Qui-Gon whispered, reaching his hand between the bars, careful not to touch them. “There's a voice inside you, crying out for sleep. To go.”

An exhausted nod.

“Give them permission, Obi-Wan, to let go. Just close your eyes, my precious padawan, and give them permission to be done.”

Eyelids sagged shut.

The midi-chlorians had been forced to Damask's bidding. The Force had decreed it was Obi-Wan's time, and in response the midi-chlorians had shut down Obi-Wan's body's systems, only to be commanded to make them function again and again.

_Release them from their task, Obi-Wan._

_May it be over for you. May the Force grant you peace._

Obi-Wan's breath simply stopped this time.

Not murdered, not stolen. Simply...  _ended._

He looked small and broken in the tank.

Qui-Gon felt the transition again, from life to death, and willed it to be the final time.

_No more._

A few minutes later Damask stormed in, spitting fury.

But try as he might, he couldn't drag Obi-Wan back. He was too late, hadn't noticed quick enough.

Had lost his window of opportunity.

There was nothing left in the lifeless husk to  _command._

Obi-Wan was safe.

 

 


End file.
